In this presentation, the imagination and the colors of Pontormo and Rosso Fiorentino. About colors, it is raising the reading done in class is by Pasolini:
Pànfete, again - a clear break of the Deposition by Pontormo in color, with color that shines in the chest. Colors? Call them colors ...
I do not know ... If you take the poppies, left in the sunlight of a melancholy afternoon, when all is quiet ("because no woman ever sang - at three in the afternoon), and in a ardor of the cemetery - if you take them and grind them, here, comes out of a juice that dries immediately, well, a bit annacquatelo 'on a white linen cloth, and tell a child to spend a wet finger on the liquid : center of a fingerprint will be out pale, pale red, almost pink, but for the beautiful whiteness of laundry that the CIA under, and fingerprints will be collected at the edges of a string of violent red and precious, barely faded, dry it is now-ger , it becomes opaque, like on a whitewash ... But in the paper keeps fading, died, his live redness. So much for the red.
Green ...
The green leaves of the basins of the blue ...
the evening, when the bells ring and the women sing, on the threshold. And in the noble peace of the garden, as night falls the shadow of a storm: the leaves are motionless under the water surface, and are becoming more blue, until they become green. But it is green or blue? So they dressed some cruel soldiers, over the centuries. Lanzichenecchi or SS: and they left and fill in the ossuaries of the world with their memory of the color of that cloth - lost in the twilight of time.
But you do next to blue and green in the veins of the leaves in the pile of water, the green is true that crude alfalfa, stained only slightly from the brown earth [...]
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